


Throne of Axes

by StrictlyNoFrills



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Erebor never fell, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Fíli Friday, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrictlyNoFrills/pseuds/StrictlyNoFrills
Summary: In an Arda where the seven dwarven kingdoms united during Sauron's first reign of terror, Thrain, son of Thror, High King of the Seven Kingdoms, has been in talks with the Thain and the Master of Buckland. Those talks have finally come to an end, and the fate of the Took and Brandybuck clans have been decided.Not everyone is happy with this new alliance.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Fíli
Comments: 32
Kudos: 87





	Throne of Axes

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got to start it! This is an AU I have been thinking about for months. I posted a snippet of it earlier in my Ides for Later place, titled Come What May. If you'd like a sneak peek at what's coming in this, you're welcome to go check it out. If not, feel free to wait and be surprised. :)
> 
> Happy Fili Friday, everyone!

The robin who had taken to perching on the ledge of her kitchen window gave a happy trill, and Bilbo sent a smile his way before bringing a sprig of dried lavender to her nose and taking a slow, deep breath. She closed her eyes and imagined for a moment that it was her mother’s hair she’d buried her nose in, as it had always been fragrant with the faintly spicy flowers.

Reality set in before she was ready, as it always seemed to these days. Belladonna Baggins had been gone for some twelve years now, and her beloved husband Bungo along with her. Opening her eyes, Bilbo shook her head at herself and began to scrape the tiny dried buds into the dough for her lemon lavender scones.

A knock at her front door prompted her to look up from her dough a short while later, and her brow furrowed. Cleaning off her hands as best she could, she called out, “Just a moment!” and then made her way through the roomy smial her parents had left behind.

“Rory!” she cried happily after opening the front door. She threw herself at her cousin and then dragged him in over the threshold. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! It feels like it’s been an age. How did it go? Have you made your report to my grandfather? Did you run into any trouble-“

“Bilbo, Bilbo!” Rorimac said, grabbing hold of her shoulders gently. “I’ve just come from Tookburrough. The Thain needs to speak to you. He sent me as soon as I finished delivering my company’s report. I’m to bring you to him straight away.”

Her dusty rose lips formed a small ‘oh’ of surprise and she looked down at her flour covered apron and lifted her hands up to check on the state of her hair. “Now? Like this? Rory, I know he’s my grandfather, but I hardly think I look appropriate for calling on anyone at the moment, let alone the Thain.”

Rory’s sandy brown curls waved in the air as he shook his head dismissively. “You look as beautiful as ever, Bilbo. Don’t worry about it.” He turned her around and made and appreciative sound. “Good, you’re armed. He’d be far less happy if you didn’t have your knife on you than he’ll be about that streak of flower on your cheek.”

“The WHAT?”

He huffed and then turned her back to face himself, licking his thumb and then swiping the aforementioned streak with the air of one who had done this many times over the years for his little sisters and brothers and then helped her take off her apron, tossing it onto a coat rung on the rack by the front door. “There. You’re perfect. Let’s go.”

“Rory-“ She supposed it was something, at least, that she had remembered to strap her dagger at the small of her back earlier this morning, but she hardly thought that would be enough to make up for her unkempt appearance. Then again, what could her grandfather reasonably expect, summoning her from her smial during the time he must have known she would be in the midst of preparations for second breakfast.

Her cousin grabbed her hand and then led her out the front door to where his pony waited, tied to the fence surrounding Bag End. “Up you get,” he said, helping her up into the saddle without ceremony.

After he untied the reins and climbed up behind her, he clicked his tongue and directed Posey the way the pony had just come from, and Bilbo threw her arms around his waist, terrified she would fall off. She had been encouraged to learn how to ride the same as all her Took and Brandybuck cousins had over the past decade in case they needed to flee the Shire in a hurry, but she had never quite taken to it.

“Do you have any idea what could be so urgent that I couldn’t even take five minutes to freshen up?” she asked over the clopping of Posey’s hooves.

Rorimac shrugged, though he was careful not to dislodge the death grip she had around his middle. “The Thain never said. But you know how things are now as well as I do.”

With a sigh, Bilbo pressed her forehead into Rory’s back. “I do.”

No Took or Brandybuck questioned the orders of the Thain or the Master of Buckland anymore. The last time someone had done that, the Thain’s most beloved daughter and favorite son in law had died at the hands of an orc pack, and Bilbo had become an orphan.

Though the day was beautiful, with clear, brilliant blue skies and a cheerful spring sun shining down upon them, Bilbo passed the ride to Tookburrough with her eyes closed. Since Rorimac could tell her nothing of her grandfather’s urgent summons, Bilbo asked him to tell her about his company’s patrol of the Shire’s borders and the outlying lands between the Shire and Bree.

Her cousin regaled her with tales of Took and Brandybuck lads breaking in their two newest members, scaring them with stories of the Old Forest and then daring them to venture under the cover of those foreboding trees. Bilbo pinched Rorimac’s side when he reached the part where Marmadoc actually made it a few feet into the Old Forest before they pulled him back and told him that they’d never meant for him to actually do it.

“Would’ve served you right if you’d all gotten yourselves swallowed up by one of those old trees,” Bilbo muttered. “Honestly, what were you all thinking? Of course one of them was going to try it at some point. If this is what you do to all the greenhorn Bounders, it’s a miracle none of them have tried it before.”

“Yes, well,” Rorimac said, shifting awkwardly in the saddle.

Bilbo snorted. “Is that all you have to say for yourself, _Captain_ Rorimac?”

“Will you look at that?” Rorimac said, sounding relieved. “We’re here.”

He dismounted and then helped Bilbo down, pressing a kiss to her cheek before giving her a light push towards the front door of her grandfather’s smial. “Go on, then, cousin. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“You’re not coming in with me?” Bilbo asked, whirling around to look at him with wide blue eyes. Her grandfather adored her – she had never doubted that – but he had never been the same hobbit since her mother had died. Where once his eyes had been full of mischief and laughter, now they were grim and tired, his face drawn and his mouth set in a firm line unless he was confronted with one of the many Took faunts. Only then did he look more like the genial hobbit Bilbo had known as a young lass, and seeing him so changed made Bilbo ache for the way things used to be. She almost couldn’t bare the thought of being around him on her own.

Rorimac shrugged. “It’s not for me to be privy to, Bilbo. Not unless the Thain says it is.”

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped, and her cousin reached out to chuck her softly under the chin. “Chin up, lass. I’m sure it isn’t as bad as all that.”

With an uncertain nod, Bilbo forced herself to stand tall and gave Rorimac a nod. “Love you, Rory. I’m glad you’re back safe.”

Rorimac’s cheeks pinked and he rolled his eyes, though Bilbo could tell that he was touched. “Get on with you, Bilbo.”

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo strode up to the front door of the smial and then knocked smartly upon the thick, sturdy wood that had been painted a bold, rich, earthy red.

Her grandmother opened the door a few moments later and stepped forward to take Bilbo’s cheeks into her hands and press a kiss to her brow. “Bilbo, my love. It’s so good to see you.” She leaned back for a moment to take her in and then gave her a slightly misty-eyed look. “You look more and more like your mother every day, sweetling. Such a beauty.” Adamanta shook her head and then moved her hands down to Bilbo’s shoulders. “But come, now. Your grandfather wishes to speak with you.”

“Yes, I’d heard,” Bilbo said wryly, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest at the reminder of what she noticed every day when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Her grandmother favored her with a tolerant look and then led her through the vast and winding halls toward her grandfather’s study.

Just outside the door, Adamanta took Bilbo’s hand and told her, “Just remember, sweetling. No matter what, everything your grandfather does, he does because he loves you.”

Bilbo’s heart, which had already been beating at a slightly elevated rate, took off in her chest, the tattoo so loud and harsh she feared everyone within a few leagues must be able to hear it.

“Grandmother, _what_ is going on?” she asked desperately.

Adamanta shook her head and rapped on the study door gently before opening it and sending Bilbo in.

“There’s a tea tray and a bit of second breakfast in there for you both. Go on, now. There’s a good lass.”

With one last pleading look at her grandmother, Bilbo stepped into the cozy study, which was lit by dozens of candles and lined from floor too ceiling with shelf upon shelf of books, and walked slowly up to the large oak desk, laden with pastries and eggs and potatoes and what looked like nice, crispy bacon, and a tea tray, as Adamanta had promised. Beyond that, Bilbo could just make out the light brown form of a piece of paper, covered with a fine script.

“Hello, my girl,” came the warm, raspy voice Bilbo had known since she was naught but a faunt.

“Hello, grandfather.”

* * *

Bilbo stared down at the shredded bits of bacon on the plate before her, which she had torn off to at least appear as though she were eating whilst her grandfather laid out his plans.

As much as she had looked forward to eating her lemon lavender scones and the last bit of a quiche she’d baked yesterday for her second breakfast, Bilbo had not managed to do more than nibble at a sweet roll.

“So, this is what you’ve been working on for the last few years?” she whispered when her grandfather at last came to the end. “This is why you’ve been holed up in this smial or off on diplomatic missions all the time?”

“Indeed,” Gerontius agreed calmly.

Bilbo, who had picked up what remained of the sweet roll on her plate, crushed it involuntarily in her fingers. “’Indeed’? Is that truly all you have to say? You wish to uproot our people, move them hundreds of leagues from the Shire, _into a MOUNTAIN_ , where we will then live side by side with _dwarves_ , and all you have to say is ‘indeed’?!” She realized that she was treading on dangerous ground, raising her voice to her grandfather this way, but Bilbo felt that she had been biddable and accepting long enough.

When her grandfather and the Master of Buckland decided to ask the Rangers to train their Bounders to better defend themselves, Bilbo agreed wholeheartedly. It was just after the Fell Winter, and Bilbo would have welcomed any measure that might mean no other tweens would have to grow to adulthood without their mother and father there to guide them. When the Bounders, once far more skilled in warcraft, had been instructed to teach every able-bodied Took and Brandybuck to fight a few years later, Bilbo shrugged and went along with it. She was a single, underage hobbit lass, living on her own. Knowing how to protect herself was only right and sensible. When, a few years after that, the Bounders had been expanded exponentially and ordered to begin patrolling the Shire’s borders, Bilbo was somewhat surprised, but she voiced no objections. Yavanna knew it kept her young cousins out of trouble, having some responsibility placed upon them for once. She had even defended her grandfather’s decisions to the rest of the Shire when they began to grumble and dissent disliking the ever-increasing military bent of two of the leading families in the Shire.

“And let us not forget that I am apparently to be given to one of those dwarves as though I am naught but chattel! Grandfather, this is madness, and I will have no part in it!”

Bilbo, leave the Shire? Abandon Bag End and all her Baggins relations to make a life with some dwarf she had never met? It was unthinkable.

Gerontius Took, usually a very gentle hobbit, if one now given to much solemnity, rose from his leather padded desk chair and slammed his fist down upon the top of the desk, making Bilbo jump in her own seat. “Belladonna Baggins! You will do as I say!”

His dark brown eyes took in her wide, watery blue ones, and he softened, coming out from behind his great desk to stand beside her chair and take one of her soft, smooth hands gently into his dry, leathery one.

“My dearest girl. There is a great darkness coming. Orcs have come as close as the outskirts of Bree, and they only grow bolder as the years go by. The landed hobbits have banded together to convince the Mayor that our Bounders should be returned to their old numbers, stripped of most of their weapons, and driven out of their garrison. I will not have my sons and daughters and their children slaughtered in their beds because the rest of the Shire wish to live as sheep. You are a Took, but you are just as much a Baggins. I knew you would choose to stay if given the chance, and I will not see you left behind. You think I see you as something to be traded away? You, my darling, are all I have left of your mother. You are my greatest treasure, and I want always for you to be close to me and _safe_.”

He paused to wipe away the tears which had begun to slide down Bilbo’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“Now, the treaty has already been signed. You are to pack your things today and leave with a company of your cousins and an escort of dwarves at first light tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? No, that was far, far too soon. There was no way she could say goodbye to everyone and have all her things packed on such short notice.

“But-“

Gerontius shook his head and covered her mouth gently. “I will hear no more against it, Bilbo. It is settled. You and your cousins will be the first to integrate into Ereborean society, and you will represent your family with dignity and decorum, do you understand?” With a comforting smile, he told her, “Don’t fret, my girl. All will be well. I have met your young dwarf. I have much reason to believe that in time, you will be happy – if you allow yourself to be so.”

“You’ve met Prince Fili?” Bilbo asked, pulling her head back slightly so that she could talk.

“I have, indeed. He and his uncle Frerin were the ones who acted as King Thrain’s emissaries during our negotiations. Quite a lively pair, those two. Handsome, too. Why, if Frerin didn’t have a few wrinkles here and there, one could almost think they were twins. I expect when you meet them, you will not find much reason to object to the view.” This last part he said with the sort of twinkle in his eyes Bilbo had not seen in years, and it was the sight of that, more than anything, that convinced her not to fight this. Seeing her grandfather happy again, even for a moment, outside of the time he spent with her fauntling cousins, was a gift Bilbo had not thought to receive.

“Now, why don’t you try to eat a bit more than those pitiful bites you took earlier, and then be on your way to pack, hmm? Be sure to take only sensible things, my girl. The road to Erebor is quite long, and your young lad has assured me all of your more material needs will be seen to once you reach the mountain.”

 _He is_ not _my lad_ , Bilbo thought to herself, though all she said was, “Yes, grandfather.”

* * *

Fili’s pony shifted restlessly, and he ran a soothing hand along his neck. “Easy, Rook. Easy. We’re almost ready. We’re just waiting for your new mistress, aye?”

Not that the lass would know that.

He glanced at his uncle, whose own pony waited placidly enough. “The others remember, right? For the next few months, I’m their commander and nothing more.”

Frerin pushed his hair, which had gathered in front of his eyes because of the gusty weather, so different from yesterday, back from his face and eyed Fili with a skeptical air. “Aye, they remember. And to keep up the ruse, they’ll be calling me ‘Captain Rin’. Not, mind you, because I think this is a good idea.”

“Yes, but it’s not you who’ll be wedding her, now is it? I just want-“

“Her to have the chance to get to know you as you, rather than her future husband,” Frerin finished, holding up a hand to forestall any further explanations. “I know, lad. You’ve told me often enough. I just don’t think starting your relationship based on a lie – even if it’s one of omission – is the best plan you’ve ever come up with.”

“I know it,” Fili acknowledged, as Frerin had told Fili _that_ often enough since the alliance between the Seven Kingdoms and the Took and Brandybuck clans of the Shire had been finalized. “And I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to go along with it, in spite of what you think.”

“Just know,” Frerin said lightly, “if you lose something vital once the lass discovers you’ve been lying to her, I’ll not do anything to punish her for it.” He glanced down towards Fili’s lap significantly and then refocused his gaze upon the direction from which the envoy from the Shire was supposed to arrive.

Fili refused to shift in his saddle and admit that the warning caused him a small bit of alarm. By her grandfather’s account, Belladonna Baggins was one of the gentler of his granddaughters, highly proficient with a blade (for a hobbit) but reluctant to use it. She wouldn’t really try to exact such bloody revenge – would she?

The sound of hooves clomping in the distance brought Fili’s eyes back to the road, and he waited intently and watched until the first of the riders appeared over the small hill. It was a young lad in light leather armor, with wild sandy curls and an open, friendly expression on his face. Though to Fili’s eyes, he looked worn out this morning, in spite of the fact that their journey had not yet begun.

Rorimac Brandybuck. Fili had met him a few times during the years his patriarch and the Thain had been in talks with the Seven Kingdoms. He was a good lad, and a deft enough hand with a sword. It would be good to have him as part of the first group of hobbits being brought to Erebor.

Behind him, there was a young lass, her auburn curls piled high onto her head and her arms wrapped tight around Rorimac’s waist. His young wife, perhaps? Rorimac had never mentioned being married, but perhaps it was a new development.

As the hobbits drew nearer on their mounts, Fili was able to make out more of the lass’s features. She was quite lovely, with fair skin and high, prominent, rosy cheekbones, and big, bright blue eyes, though they looked terrified. Perhaps she did not sit a pony easily. Her lips were a deep shade of pink and quite plump, made moreso by the nervous way she nibbled at her bottom one.

 _Good for you, Rorimac_ , Fili thought, and then he looked beyond his young friend, hoping he might catch a glimpse of his betrothed, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he would know which of the lasses was she. There were a dozen lasses in the group, each of them lovely in their own way, though not nearly as lovely as the one clinging to Rorimac.

Their leader raised his hand and grinned tiredly at Fili as they came within speaking distance. “F-“

Fili shook his head slightly, and Rorimac’s eyebrows shot up into his curls. “Friends, it is good to see you again!” he settled on after half a beat. The lass seated at his back eyed Rorimac oddly, obviously noting the hesitation, but otherwise, no one reacted to the brief pause.

“Captain,” Fili said warmly, offering Rorimac a nod. “It is good to see you, as well. I trust your party is ready?”

Rorimac’s lips twitched, and he tossed a doubtful look over his shoulder, but then he turned back and said, “Ready as we’ll ever be, _Commander_.”

“Excellent,” Frerin declared, grinning at the contingent of hobbits. “Then let’s be off.”

“Oh, before we set off, Commander, would you mind if Bilbo rides with you? I just came back from patrolling yesterday, and I’d like my Posey to take it a bit easy today.” He patted his pony’s neck affectionately.

“Rory, I _told_ _you_ we should have gotten me a pony of my own,” Bilbo hissed, glancing at Fili with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Commander. I’ll not trouble you – I can just ride with another of my cousins. Perhaps one who isn’t such an intractable _goose_.”

“Nonsense, cousin. The commander is one of the best fighters I know, and an excellent rider, which you, my dear, are definitely not. If anything happens, I’d feel much better knowing you’re with him.”

Fili watched as Bilbo’s cheeks went from a fetching shade of rose to a brilliant crimson. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, took a breath, and then huffed out through her nose, glaring down at the ground. “Fine.” She raised her head and said, while looking in Fili’s general direction, “If you’ll permit me, Commander?”

“Yes, of course.”

Fili dismounted and went to help the lass down, marveling at the softness of her hands, even with the faint callouses which were only to expected from someone who wore a sword at her hip. She too wore light leathers, along with all the rest of the hobbits, though her armor and that of the other lasses had been fashioned into bodices in place of the more traditional, flimsier fabrics. He led her over to Rook and helped her to mount, noting the small scabbard and blade at the small of her back approvingly.

When he was sure she was seated comfortably, Fili joined her.

“Thank you for this. I’m sorry you’ve been saddled with me – quite literally, as it happens.”

“It’s alright, my lady.”

“My lady,” Bilbo said under her breath. “That will take some getting used to.” Speaking a little louder, she said, “Fair warning, Commander: I’ve been told I have a rather tight grip.”

“You’ll not hear me complaining about a pretty lass holding me close,” Fili said, tossing a grin at her over his shoulder.

She snorted and then flicked his ear lightly. “None of that, now. I, um. I’ve been promised to someone.”

“Have you, now?” Fili had been under the impression that the unmarried hobbit lasses would be encouraged to hold off on finalizing any courtships until they had been in the mountain for a time, to give the young dwarves a chance. The Took and Brandybuck patriarchs sought security for their people, and in return, Thrain hoped to bring new life to the Lonely Mountain.

“Yes. He’s a prince, I’m told. Fili of the house of Durin. Do you know him at all?”

Fili’s hands spasmed where they clutched Rook’s reins. “Aye, I know him.”

“Could you – I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother, really, but we are sort of stuck with each other, at least for today. Could you maybe tell me a bit about what he’s like?”

He said the first thing that came to mind. “Short – not for a dwarf, really, but for a son of Durin. All the rest of them, save Prince Frerin, are ridiculously tall.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose that’s a bit of relief.”

“Is it?” Fili asked, feeling strangely hopeful. He’d always tried not to be, but he was a bit self-conscious about how much shorter he was than the rest of the family.

“Well, yes. I’d hate to have a husband who towered over me. Can you imagine the neck strain, always having to look up at someone? And it simply wouldn’t do to have a row while staring at someone’s chin – or worse, his chest.”

Fili’s lips twitched. “Do you anticipate having many rows with your intended, then?”

“No. I mean, I should hope not, but suppose we do…”

“Aye. I believe you will be able to argue in the manner you would prefer with your future husband, my lady,” Fili said, shaking his head lightly and feeling grateful the lass could not see how widely his grin stretched across his face.

He didn’t know what Frerin had been worried about. Getting to know his intended this way was working out beautifully.


End file.
